We Need to Support Standing Rock

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Right now in North Dakota, a massive gathering of Native Americans and allies is challenging the construction of the Dakota Access oil pipeline, which threatens lands sacred to the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe and could contaminate the water supply of millions who rely on the Missouri River if the pipeline were to leak. This movement is a vitally important act of resistance and deserves far more attention than it has received.

For me, this issue has sparked a new sense of clarity about my responsibilities as a white American. It is not enough to feel sympathetic to the struggles of Native Americans. I owe them material support. This is part of the reason I have contributed to the Standing Rock GoFundMe campaign, which provides supplies to the protectors at Standing Rock, who are now preparing to camp through the harsh winter months in sustained resistance to the pipeline. Supplies include sleeping bags, batteries, pots, shovels, tipi liners, tents, medic sinks, dishtowels, and much more. I encourage others to check it out and also check out the Standing Rock Donation Fund through StandingRock.org.

By supporting this movement, I can take a step toward repaying a small portion of what I owe to Native American peoples. I am an Anglo-Saxon descendant of pioneers, the most privileged ethnic group in the United States. I grew up north of San Francisco in the 1980s, raised to believe I was “on the Native Americans’ side.” I deplored the history of conquest and genocide practiced against them by my cultural ancestors. But all my life, I have profited from that history and not done a blessed thing to redress it.

I grew up roaming twenty beautiful acres of Sonoma County oak woodland, land ultimately available to my family because it was wrested from the peoples who used to live there, which likely included the Coast Miwok, Wappo, and/or Pomo. The Wappo culture was driven to extinction. The Pomo and a small number of Coast Miwok endure, dispossessed of virtually all their homeland. I owe something to the First Peoples alive today because I profit from the long history of crimes against them. It is only just—it is only a small step in the direction of justice—to pay something back.

But this in not a zero sum game. When I contribute to action to stop the Dakota Access Pipeline, I do it not only to support the Standing Rock Sioux but also for the millions of Americans and the ecosystems relying on the Missouri River. I do it because we need to oppose fossil fuels and move with lightning speed to a no-carbon economy to save our planet from the worst ravages of climate change. And I also do it for myself—because climate change is exacerbating (if not causing) a drought of millennial proportions in my beloved California. And that corner of California is my homeland too and to see it dying kills my heart.

Everything is connected. The host of problems that besiege our nation (and much of the world) are symptoms of a single problem. The desecration of sacred sites, the endangered purity of the Missouri River, the California drought, the floods in Louisiana, the impoverishment of the Tribes, the impoverishment of the 99%, drug abuse, domestic abuse, factory farming, failing schools, Flint Michigan’s water, Americans’ anger at both Democrats and Republicans, ocean acidification, mass extinction (of species, cultures, languages), insufficient vacation, stress, and failing health: these are just a handful of symptoms of a social and ecological cascade failure caused by a national—and increasingly global—narrative that for centuries has made economic growth its defining virtue.

In this story, growth (profit, use, expansion) is more important than Tribal rights, more important than clean water, more important than workers’ rights, more important than sparing livestock pain, more important than education, more important whole species’ survival, more important than the oceans, more important than the atmosphere, more important than ecosystems, more important than medical care, more important than providing people food, more important than rest, more important than health, more important than the future, more important than family, more important than art, more important than beauty, more important than happiness, more important than compassion, more important than honesty, more important than truth, more important than reality. This story is killing us. We need to adopt a different story as swiftly and completely as we can. We need to replace growth and objectification with sustainability and reverence.

There are many other stories we can call on, from Christian compassion to Daoist balance. But in America, we cannot do better than listen to the stories of the First Americans, the ones who know best how to belong to this land. For centuries, their voices have been drowned out. We all need to create a space for them to be heard, not only because they deserve to be heard but because we need to learn what they’re teaching. They are our first, best path to the future of America. It is not enough to offer platitudes about respect for Native voices. Voices do not spring from nowhere. Voices need food, water, shelter, rest, and a host of other material things. We must put our work and our money into reshaping our world. I am only beginning to do a little bit of my part, but my heart knows this is the right path and I’ll keep walking it.

About the author

Arwen Spicer
Arwen Spicer

Arwen Spicer is a science fiction writer and writing teacher raised in the San Fransciso Bay Area, and Northern California will hold her heart forever, even if it turns into a desert. She wrote her doctoral dissertation on ecology in utopian science fiction and is an educator on the concept of workable utopias. Her novel The Hour before Morning was hailed as “A carefully paced, rewarding sci-fi debut” by Kirkus Indie.

Arwen Spicer By Arwen Spicer

Arwen Spicer

Arwen Spicer

Arwen Spicer is a science fiction writer and writing teacher raised in the San Fransciso Bay Area, and Northern California will hold her heart forever, even if it turns into a desert. She wrote her doctoral dissertation on ecology in utopian science fiction and is an educator on the concept of workable utopias. Her novel The Hour before Morning was hailed as “A carefully paced, rewarding sci-fi debut” by Kirkus Indie.

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